


Again

by Ishti



Series: New Quest [8]
Category: Aveyond
Genre: Gen, Introspection, Meta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 09:38:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13431990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ishti/pseuds/Ishti





	Again

He whistles as he struts, hands clasped behind his back. He's got no one to impress. Never has.

It's very cloudy here. His boots _clap_ sharply against the wooden boardwalk, which _creak_ s every few steps. It's not a masterfully crafted pier, just a stretch cobbled together by a hurried hand, many of its nails and fittings showing the first signs of rust. The planks are spaced unevenly, and they vary in breadth. It doesn't really worry him. He's walked forward all this time and never fallen.

He has no way of knowing the depth of the water sloshing beneath his feet. It might go down forever. Of course, that would call into question the stability of the piling--but although these thoughts occur to him, the rust and the creaking and the supports of the dock, they don't bother him.

There are no buildings, no ships moored on this pier. No people. Just him.

He's whistling a song he learned not too long ago, before he began his solitary trek through the passage of time. No one taught it to him, per se, but he's heard it many times. Someone close to him, someone imbued with a unique sort of magic, was fond of this song. It saved his life once.

Once in a while, the water begins to build along the sides of the pier, and unnatural waves form, growing ever taller until they crash on either side of him, as if slamming into two great, invisible walls. The oceanic bulwarks rise up high, framing his personal promenade, giving him a glittering show, glowing with gentle lavender and violet as if lit from within.

He never flinches. The waves won't hit him. Maybe he knows this from experience; maybe he believes it on faith--but he's right. Though the sea spray tousles his hair, the august ocean never raises a hand against him.

The clouds ahead of him are clearing. This attracts his interest.

He knows what's ahead. It's always the same; a rhythm he's learned to step, a waltz he's learned to dance. The sky behind the clouds is revealed. Muted shades of pink and periwinkle meld tenderly, a sharp contrast to the stark charcoal of the stormiest clouds behind him. He glances up at the first glimmering stars--unrecognizable. He shrugs and whistles on.

The pier ends up ahead. Water laps gently at the piling as he nears it, as if the ocean is apologetic, seeking atonement for its aggressive displays. John's hands remain clasped behind his back, but one finger fidgets against another. He whistles a high note, sharp; his melody persists.

He reaches the very end of the pier. With two purposeful _clap_ s of his boots, he stands on the foremost wooden plank, whistles a finale, and looks a little to his left.

There's a boat floating just off the end of the pier. A dinghy, gunter-rigged, its modest sails furled. It's docked, loosely, a single line holding it fast to the piling, and it's unoccupied.

He exhales, rolling his eye melodramatically. "A dinghy this time? Couldn't be bothered to send me a sloop?"

_At least it isn't a rowboat._

"You got me there. I wasn't so fond of that." He releases his hands and stretches high, and things in his back crackle and groan. "I feel like I've been walking for ages."

_You've become a patient man._

He says nothing, but he turns his face away from the boat as if concealing his soft grin.

_So... I must ask._

"Lay it on me."

_Do you truly want to do all of this again?_

He leans against the piling as he toys with the dinghy's dock line. "What? You mean... to be penniless, get marooned, go to jail, be forcefully pursued by a domineering matriarch, encounter my worst old enemies, fight horrific ancient demons, and... help this kid ride a dragon home?"

The dinghy creaks a little as it bobs in place, and he smiles.

"Every time."


End file.
